UC-NRLF 


B    3    57^    t.15 


/      S^ 


aw* 


\ 


IN  BERKSHIRE 


WITH  THE 


WILD    FLOWERS 


IN  BERKSHIRE 


1(7  77  f  THE 


WILD     FLOWERS 


BY 

ELAINE  AND  DORA  READ  GOOD  ALE 

AUTHORS  OF  "APPLE  BLOSSOMS" 


IL LUSTRA  TED  BY 

W.  HAMILTON  GIBSON 


,  . 


NEM*    YORK 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

182  Fifth  A  win, • 
1879-80 


COPYRIGHT 

1879 
BY  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


CONTENTS. 


OPENING  POEM 

TRAILING  ARBUTUS.  .  .(Epigea  repens.} 

HEPATICA (Hepatica  triloba.} 

ANEMONE (Anemone  nemorosa.} 

BLOODROOT (Sanguinaria  Canadensis.} 

BLUE  VIOLETS ( Viola  sagittatai} 

WHITE  VIOLETS (Viola  blanda.} 

MEADOW  RUE (Thalictrum  dioicum.} 

TRILLIUM (Trillium  erectum} 

WILD  OAT (Uvularia  sessi folia.} 

COLUMBINE (Aquilegia  Canadensis.) 

BLUE-EYED  GRASS  .  .  .  .(Sisyrinchium  Bermudiana.} 

WILD  AZALEA (Azalea  nudi flora?) 

MOCCASIN  FLOWER  .  .  .(Cypripedium  acaule.} 

DAISIES (Chrysanthemum  leucanthemum, 

SWEET-BRIER (Rosa  rubiginosa.) 

HAREBELL (Campanula  rotundi folia.} 

MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  . .  .(Kalmia  lati folia.} 

WHITE  CLOVER (Tri folium  repens.} 

RED  CLOVER (Trifolium pratense.} 

MEADOW  LILIES (Liliuin  Canadense.} 

WOOD  LILIES (Liliiim  Philadelphicum.} 

WILD  CLEMATIS (Clematis  Virginiana.) 

7 


ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
)  DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 


^45267 


CONTENTS. 


INDIAN  PIPE (Monotropa  uni flora.} 

THISTLE (Cirsium  lanceolatum.} 

SPIREA (Spirea  tomentosa.) 

GOLDENROD (Solidago  altissima.} 

ASTERS (Aster .) 

CARDINAL  FLOWER  . .  .(Lobelia  cardinalis.) 
FRINGED  GENTIAN.  . .  .(Gentiana  ctinita.} 
CLOSING  POEM 


ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
DORA  READ  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 
ELAINE  GOODALE. 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Title-Page 5 

Trailing  Arbutus 15 

Hepatica 19 

Anemone 21 

Bloodroot 23 

Blue  Violets 27 

Trillium 35 

Wild  Oat 37 

Columbine 39 

Wild  Azalea 43 

Daisies 49 

Sweet-Brier 51 

Harebell 53 

Mountain  Laurel 57 

White  Clover 59 

Red  Clover 62 

Meadow  Lilies 65 

Wild  Clematis 69 

Indian  Pipe 73 

Thistle 75 

Spirea 79 

Goldenrod 81 

Asters 83 

Fringed  Gentian 87 

ERRATUM. 

The  illustration  on  page  37,  through  a  misunderstanding  on  the  part  of  the  artist,  represents 
the  a-vena  sativa  instead  of  the  uvularia  scssilifolia  of  the  poem.  The  design  is,  however, 
so  graceful  and  attractive  in  itself,  that  it  has  been  decided  not  to  cancel  it. 

9 


O  STRANGE  sweet  season  of  up-heaving  birth, 
O  oft-returning  miracle  of  grace, 
To  whose  eternal  forces  still  we  trace 

Life's  yearly  ebb  and  flow,  the  newest  joy  of  earth  ! 

No  weight  of  ages  on  her  swelling  breast 

Can  dull  the  keen  delight  of  opening  Spring ; 
Fresh  from  a  living  hope  the  blue-birds  sing, 

The  wild  March  winds   wake  still   a   chord   of  deep 
unrest. 

The  pulse  of  being  mounting  high  and  higher, 
Life  throbs  anew  at  every  bosom's  core,— 
We  give  ourselves  to  Nature's  arms  once  more, 

And  yield  to  her  control  our  unfulfilled  desire  ! 

Lo  !  wind  and  rain  are  striving  in  her  voice, 

O 

She  bares  her  bosom  to  the  ardent  sun, 
And  we  must  feel  her  victories  lost  and  won 
Ere  in  her  riper  gains  our  eager  hearts  rejoice. 


ii 


No  idler  fancy  holds  her  serious  eyes, 

No  lighter  feeling  drains  the  happy  hours, 

And  he  who  stoops  to  reach  her  lowliest  flowers, 

Thro'  reverent  love  alone  may  grasp  their  mysteries. 

With  steadfast  mind  we  pass  her  threshold  o'er,— 
She  takes  our  trust,  she  gives  us  greeting  warm, 
Withholds  the  rudeness  of  her  sudden  storm, 

And  casts  her  blossoming  vines  about  the  open  door. 

To  us  the  birds  their  rarest  meanings  bring, 
The  tireless  winds  our  burdened  brows  caress, 
And,  strangely  stirred  to  thrilling  tenderness, 

We  breathe  in  every  flower  the  incense  of  the  Spring. 

Such  would  we  follow  thro'  the  varying  year, 

And  feel  with  such  its  lightest  phase  of  change,— 
To  Nature's  deep  emotions,  deep  and  strange, 

The  impulse  of  a  smile,  the  passion  of  a  tear ! 

Lingering  with  few  among  the  countless  throng, 
Yet  loyal  to  the  ones  that  seem  forgot, 
We  fain  would  learn  the  secret  of  their  lot, 

And  voice  its  hidden  charm  in  kindred  grace  of  song! 


12 


In  these,  perchance,  no  ready  sequence  lies, 
Linked  only  by  the  season's  rise  and  fall ; 
Yet  thro',  and  over,  and  around  them  all 

There  flows  the  current  strong  of  Time's  great  min 
istries. 

So  would  we  keep  among  these  scattered  flowers 
A  thread  of  graver  purpose  interwound, 
A  hint  of  something  only  to  be  found 

Where  from  God's  holiest  heights  unroll  the  golden 

hours  ! 

13 


TRAILING   ARBUTUS. 

SINCE  the  winds  of  March  gave  outlet  to  the  tidings 

they  should  bear, 

Since  the  breath  of  inspiration  swept  upon  the  listen 
ing  air, 

Weeks  have  brought  but  varying  chances, 
Soft  restraints  and  shy  advances, 
Warm  desire,  impetuous  longing,  met  with  tenderest 

delay  ; 

Ours  the  restless  hope  and  yearning, 
Theirs  the  slow  but  sure  returning,— 
Song  and  sunshine,  bloom  and  brightness,  growing 
nearer  day  by  day. 


We  have  known  the  wrath  of  Winter,  in  his  moun 
tain  fastness  strong, 

Driving  storms   have   raged   against  us,  baffled  and 
besieged  us  long; 
14 


Locked  in  snows,  without  repining 
We    have    watched    their    crystal 

shining, 

Dazzled  back  with  steadfast  vision  that 
still  radiance,  cold  and  clear  ; 
Now  we  gaze  with  lips  a-tremble, 
Now  we  soften  and  dissemble, 

For  those  same  compelling  forces  move  us  with  the 
moving  year  ! 

15 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 

Thus  by  random  fancies  fettered,  with  what  rapture 

may  we  greet 
One  who  shared  our  long  probation,  where  the  Spring 

and  Winter  meet ; 
Wind  and  snow  about  her  flying, 
Safe  her  clustered  buds  were  lying, 
Folded  close  in  russet  woodlands,  sheltered  from  the 

chilly  air,— 

Sweet  her  slumbers,  all  unbroken 
By  a  trifler's  careless  token, 

Till  the  magic  kiss  of  April  laid  her  virgin  passion 
bare ! 


Then   our  darling,  hid  in   silence  where   no   careless 

footstep  trod, 
Felt  the  earliest  beams  of  sunlight  quicken  in  the 

yielding  sod  ; 

Half  confessed  her  heart's  undoing 
At  the  south-wind's  whispered  wooing, 
Heard  the  blue-bird's  liquid  warble  dropping  all  the 
woodlands  thro' ; 

16 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 


While,  thro'  long  and  quiet  hours, 
Fell  the  warm  unceasing  showers 
From  a  sky  of  tender  saffron  slow  dissolving  in  the 
blue. 


Needless  doubt  and  pain  of  April,  hope  that  baffles 

and  eludes, 
Thro*  the  waiting  weeks  she  followed,  patient  with 

his  changing  moods  ; 
Now  the  long  suspense  is  over, 
Now  she  turns  to  greet  her  lover, 
With  the  soft  auroral  color  mantling  over  cheek  and 

brow  ; 

And  her  dewy  lips  he  presses, 
And  she  thrills  with  light  caresses,— 
Shy  and  cold  while  yet  unbidden,  wifely  chaste  and 
tender  now  ! 


Hail  the  flower  whose  early  bridal  makes  the  festival 

of  Spring ! 
Deeper  far  than   outward  meaning  lies  the  comfort 

she  doth  brino-  • 

o   ' 

17 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 

From  the  heights  of  happy  winning, 

Gaze  we  back  on  hope's  beginning, 
Feel  the  vital    strength  and  beauty  hidden  from  our 
eyes  before  ; 

And  we  know,  with  hearts  grown  stronger, 

Tho'  our  waiting  seemeth  longer, 
Yet,  with  Love's   divine  assurance,  we  should  covet 


nothing  more. 


1.8 


HEPATIC  A. 

ALL  the  woodland  path  is  broken 
By  warm  tints  along  the  way, 
And  the  low  and  sunny  slope 
Is  alive  with  sudden  hope, 
When  there  comes  the  silent  token 
Of  an  April  day,— 

Blue  hepatica  ! 

O  the  earth's  unconscious  bosom 
Such  rare  color  never  knew  ! 
All  unknown  to  shy  delay, 
All  unheeded  by  the  May, 
Starts  to  life  the  varying  blossom, 
Fed  by  sun  and  dew,— 

Faint  hepatica  ! 
19 


HEP  A  TIC  A. 

Come  !  for  long  has  been  our  waiting, 
Wayward  impulse  of  the  Spring,— 
Longings  by  the  March  wind  stirred 
Have  been  lost  through  hope  deferred; 
You,  from  utter  darkness  breaking, 
Newer  light  may  bring, 
Fair  hepatica ! 

Clear  the  brook  beside  you  singing — 
Do  you  hear  it  and  obey  ? 
Does  it  bid  you  now  lift  up 
The  blue  light  within  your  cup, 
All  your  earth-born  perfume  bringing 
To  the  open  day,— 

Sweet  hepatica  ? 

20 


ANEMONE. 

A  WINDFLOWER  by  the  mountain 

stream 
Where  April's  wayward  breezes 

blow, 
And    still    in     sheltered    hollows 

gleam 
The  lingering  drifts  of  snow: 


21 


ANEMONE. 

Whence  art  thou,  frailest  flower  of  Spring  ? 

Did  winds  of  heaven  give  thee  birth  ? 
Too  free,  too  airy-light  a  thing 

For  any  child  of  earth  ! 

O  palest  of  pale  blossoms  borne 

On  timid  April's  virgin  breast, 
Hast  thou  no  flush  of  passion  worn, 

No  mortal  bond  confessed  ? 

Thou  mystic  spirit  of  the  wood, 

Why  that  ethereal  grace  that  seems 

A  vision  of  our  actual  good 

Linked  with  the  land  of  dreams  ? 

Thou  didst  not  start  from  common  ground, — 
So  tremulous  on  thy  slender  stem  ; 

Thy  sisters  may  not  clasp  thee  round 
Who  art  not  one  with  them. 

Thy  subtle  charm  is  strangely  given, 

My  fancy  will  not  let  thee  be,— 
Then  poise  not  thus  'twixt  earth  and  heaven, 

O  white  anemone  ! 


22 


BLOODROOT. 


NOT    pressing    close  on    crowded 

ways, 
Not    shrinking    back   from  any 

eye, 

But  calm  beneath  the  open  sky, 
And     slow    to    meet    our    ruder 
gaze: 


Scarce  answering  to  the  sudden  thrill 
Of  doubt  and  mystery  wafted  hence, 
Yet  helping  to  a  deeper  sense 

Of  vital  force  unmeasured  still  : 

23 


BLOODROOT. 

In  April's  hour  of  virgin  fame 

The  bloodroot  gives  her  blossom  birth, 
And  trusts  within  the  kindly  earth 

The  hidden  sources  of  her  shame. 

Along  the  teeming  meadow-side, 
Hard  by  the  river-banks  are  seen 
Her  close-veined  sheaths  of  tender  green, 

With  generous  frankness  opening  wide. 

When  lo  !  the  secret  of  an  hour 

By  throbbing  April  warmth  unsealed, 
In  sudden  splendor  stands  revealed 

The  glowing  whiteness  of  the  flower  : 

A  pure  large  flower  of  simple  mold, 
And  touched  with  soft  peculiar  bloom, 
Its  petals  faint  with  strange  perfume, 

And  in  their  midst  a  disk  of  gold ! 

O  bloodroot!  in  thy  tingling  veins 
The  sap  of  life  runs  cold  and  clear ; 
I  break  thy  shining  stem,  and  fear 

No  conscious  guilt,  no  lasting  stains. 

24 


BLOODROOT. 

I  brand  with  shame  thy  peerless  brow, 
Whose  golden  coronet  is  riven, 
And  cast  to  all  the  winds  of  heaven 

Thy  drifts  of  many-petaled  snow  ! 

Yet,  ere  the  reckless  deed  appears, 

Thy  truth  compels  my  heart's  disguise. 
Thy  beauty  pains  my  mortal  eyes, 

Thy  pulse-beats  hammer  in  my  ears. 

I  seem  myself  the  panting  earth, 
The  Spring  within  me  newly  born  ; 
I  feel  thee  from  my  breast  uptorn,— 

I  grapple  with  a  larger  birth. 

My  narrow  senses  downward  hurled, 
In  upper  air  I  blindly  grope— 
I  strive  to  reach  a  living  hope, 

And  blossom  in  the  spirit  world  ! 

Go,  struggles  deep,  and  visions  wild, 
From  heart  and  brain  I  set  you  free  ; 
Thro'  human  need  I  still  must  see 

And  grasp  the  human  undefiled. 

25 


BLOODROOT. 

Go,  wondrous  flower — thy  soul  is  mine — 
My  gazing  cannot  do  thee  wrong ; 
To  me  the  conscious  pangs  belong  ! 

To  me,  at  last,  the  right  divine  ! 
26 


BLUE    VIOLETS. 

THE  violet  blooms  with  every  Spring, 
With  every  Spring  the  breezes  blow, 

And  once  again  the  robins  sing 

A  song  more  sweet  than  June  can  know. 

So  with  the  violet  comes  desire 

For  something  else  than  common  gain,— 
The  glow  of  more  than  earthly  fire, 

The  sting  of  more  than  actual  pain. 

A  thousand  slackened  memories  start, 
Encompassed  by  a  violet's  breath,— 

The  vital  wish  of  every  heart, 

The  Life  that  triumphs  over  Death. 

A  blossom  of  returning  light, 

An  April  flower  of  sun  and  dew; 

The  earth  and  sky,  the  day  and  night 
Are  melted  in  her  depth  of  blue  ! 


BLUE    VIOLETS. 

So  comes  and  goes  an  April  day, 
And  so  the  violet  comes  and  goes, — 

A  few  pale  blossoms  grace  the  May, 

A  last  faint  breath  the  May-wind  blows. 

But  now  the  air  is  full  and  free 

With  quickening  pulses  of  the  Spring, 

And  longing  for  the  life  to  be 
The  phoebes  of  a  sudden  sing. 

And  on  a  green  and  shaded  slope 

The  air  is  stirred  with  sweet  perfumes, 

Where,  in  the  heat  and  light  of  hope, 
Again  the  rare  blue  violet  blooms  ! 

28 


WHITE    VIOLETS. 

RAIN  above  the  thirsting  sod, 

Rain  within  the  budding  wood, 
Dropping  earthward,  dropping  ever  soft  and  slow  ; 

Rain  its  solemn  chant  repeating 
On  the  hushed  and  darkened  air, 

Rain  with  even  pulses  beating 
Thro'  the  fitful  fever  there  ; 

We,  who  live  and  long  for  much, 

Still  divine  its  magic  touch, 

Drink  its  silver  cadence  still, 

Open  to  its  inmost  thrill,— 

Gone  from  us  the  restless  pain, 

Ours  the  blessing  of  the  rain, 
Ours  the  silent  grace  that  hallows  all  below  ! 


Flowers  amid  the  dripping  moss, 

Tearful  flowers  that  sweeten  loss, 

30 


WHITE    VIOLETS. 

Pressing  closer  on  the  myriads  in  their  train  ; 
White  as  milk,  and  perfume-laden, 
Purple-veined  and  golden-eyed,— 
Still  with  sweeter  solace  waiting 

Where  the  swollen  streams  divide  ; 
We,  released  from  strifes  and  cares, 
Press  our  burning  lips  to  theirs, 
Share  their  mood  of  still  delight, 
Drink  their  unimpassioned  light; 
Gone  from  us  the  fever-heats, 
Ours  the  breath  of  violets,— 

These  we  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the  rain  ! 

31 


MEADOW  RUE. 

BELOW  the  slopes  of  tender  green, 

Starred  thick  with  pale  forget-me-nots, 
Below  the  hedge-row's  milk-white  bloom, 
Where  bees  hum  deep  in  faint  perfume, 
The  brook  winds  in  and  out  between 
Its  grassy  knolls  and  alder-knots  ; 
There  dewy  stillness  cools  the  aching  brow, 

There  restful  shade  shuts  out  the  random  day; 
Sweet  refuge  from  the  virginal  overflow, 
The  blossomed  grace  of  May  ! 


Tis  there  a  modest  floweret  grows, 

Whose  lightest  touch  renews  the  place  ; 
With  drooping  leaves,  but  half  unrolled, 
And  tasselled  fringe  of  tawny  gold, 
O'er  all  the  shady  bank  she  throws 
A  wilder  charm,  a  fresher  grace; 


ME 'A DO W  RUE. 


Adown  the  steep  in  careless  freedom  flung, 

Caught  up  with  wandering  fringes,  loose  and  cool, 
And  left  the  dripping,  deep-green  moss  among, 
Beside  some  quiet  pool. 


Now  circled  by  the  dizzying  tide, 

And  wet  with  drift  of  blinding  spray; 

Now  on  the  sloping  turf  reclined, 

And  stirred  by  breezes  soft  and  kind  ; 

Now  half-way  up  the  jagged  side 

Of  cliffs  that  break  the  narrow  way  ;— 

Hers  is  a  native  lightness,  fine  and  free, 
A  grave  and  quiet  beauty,  fitting  best, 

A  sylvan  charm  of  frank  simplicity, 
And  most,  a  sense  of  rest. 


When  emerald  slopes  are  drowned  in  song, 

When  weary  grows  the  unclouded  blue, 
When  warm  winds  sink  in  billowy  bloom, 
And  flood  you  with  a  faint  perfume, 
One  moment  leave  the  rapturous  throng 
To  seek  the  haunts  of  meadow  rue  ! 

33 


MEADOW  RUE. 

There  dewy  stillness  cools  the  aching  brow, 

There  grateful  shade  shuts  out  the  oppressive  day; 
Sweet  refuge  from  the  sensuous  overflow, 
The  wanton  grace  of  May  ! 

34 


TRILLIUM. 


WHERE  the  landlocked  wind-storm  rages, 

Rushing  thro'  the  wild  ravine, 
Where  the  gathered  dust  of  ages 

Is  renewed  in  tenderest  green ; 
Where  the  passionate  pulse  of  power 

Beats  along  its  strong  career, 
You  may  find  a  three-cleft  flower 

In  the  spring-time  of  the  year  ! 

35 


TRILLIUM. 

Winter  winds  thro'  mountain  passes 

Break  athwart  the  frosty  night ; 
Spring  among  the  seething  grasses 

Stirs  a  newer  pulse  of  light  ; 
Sweet  and  strange  the  April  weather, 

Generous  she  of  heart  and  hand, 
Sun  and  storm  she  brings  together, 

Strong  to  conquer  and  command. 


Now  about  the  rugged  places 
And  along  the  ruined  way, 

Light  and  free  in  sudden  graces 
Comes  the  careless  tread  of  May,— 

Born  of  tempest,  wrought  in  power, 
Stirred  by  sudden  hope  and  fear, 

You  may  find  a  mystic  flower 

In  the  spring-time  of  the  year  ! 

36 


WILD  OAT. 

WINDS  are  growing  sweeter 

Day  by  day  ; 

Spring  is  here,  the  fields  have  seen  her, 
And  are  growing  greener,  greener, 
And  the  woods  have  found  so  much 
In  the  magic  of  her  touch, 
That  the  golden  mist  of  April 

Deepens  with  the  May  ! 

Now  we  feel  the  new  enchantment 

Of  the  May; 

April  days  were  less  than  living, 
Ours  the  asking,  hers  the  giving,— 
In  the  golden  May-tide  weather 
We  can  ask  and  give  together, 
Now  no  more  we  wait  and  listen 

Day  by  day. 


*  See  erratum,  page  9. 
37 


WILD   OAT. 

To  the  green  and  sunlit  forest, 

Late  so  gray, 

Come  the  careless  robins  daily, 
There  to  call  and  carol  gayly, 
And  the  chime  of  blossom-bells 
Fuller  harmony  foretells, 
In  the  borders  of  the  forest 

Ringing  in  the  May  ! 

Waits  the  flower  amid  her  shadows 

All  the  day, 

And  the  slender  birch-tree  glistens 
Where  she  droops  her  head  and  listens, 
And  her  footprints  I  discover 
Where  the  sweet-fern  closes  over, 
Round  the  edges  of  the  woodlands, 

Tender  with  the  May  ! 

O  the  lights  of  earth  and  heaven, 

Growing  day  by  day  ; 
O  the  winds  among  the  grasses,— 
Showers,  along  the  mountain  passes  ; 
O  the  shy,  straw-colored  bell 
In  the  shadow  of  the  dell, 
Heir  to  all  the  early  freedom 

Of  the  May  ! 

38 


\ 


"•'•'  —"— v  " 


COLUMBINE. 

SPRUNG  in  a  cleft  of  the  wayside  steep, 
And  saucily  nodding,  flushing  deep, 

With  her  airy  tropic  bells  aglow,— 
Bold  and  careless,  yet  wondrous  light, 
And  swung  into  poise  on  the  stony  height, 

Like  a  challenge  flung  to  the  world  below  ! 


39 


COL  UMBINE. 

Skirting  the  rocks  at  the  forest  edge 
With  a  running  flame  from  ledge  to  ledge, 
Or  swaying  deeper  in  shadowy  glooms, 
A  smoldering  fire  in  her  dusky  blooms  ; 
Bronzed  and  molded  by  wind  and  sun, 
Maddening,  gladdening  every  one 
With  a  gypsy  beauty  full  and  fine, — 

A  health  to  the  crimson  columbine  ! 

40 


BLUE-EYED    GRASS. 

IN  the  blind  meadow,  overflowing 
With  sweet,  new  life  in  every  place, 

Where  ferns  and  lightest  grasses  growing 
Mingle  in  one  harmonious  grace ; 

O  deeper  than  all  conscious  being 

Still  throbs  the  quickened  pulse  of  Air, 

For  something  lies  beyond  the  seeing, 
Divinely  fair ! 


Low  down  among  the  daisies  lying, 

Near  to  the  great  warm  heart  of  Earth, 

My  secret  clue  eludes  the  trying, 
Merged  in  a  new  and  larger  birth; 

I  lose  myself  in  holy  union, 
I  cannot  stand  and  gaze  apart, 

In  that  unbroken,  close  communion 
Heart  learns  of  heart. 

41 


BLUE-EYED   GRASS. 

What  impulse  stirs  the  feathery  grasses, 
And  dips  along  their  wavering  line  ? 

While,  as  the  sudden  tremor  passes, 

Two  strange,  sweet  eyes  look  up  to  mine  ! 

Eyes  with  a  more  than  human  pleading, 
So  poet-deep,  so  maiden-shy  ; 

Till  all  my  soul  is  drowned  in  gazing,— 
O  rare  blue  eye  ! 

My  spirit-flower,  my  heaven-sent  blossom, 

I  held  your  secret  in  my  hand, 
I  caught  and  clasped  you  to  my  bosom, 

I  thought  to  see  and  understand  : 
O  fatal  haste !  thou  has  undone  me, 

Yet,  yet  unsolved  the  mystery  lies  ; 
They  closed,  and  shut  the  wonder  from  me, 

Those  deep,  dark  eyes  ! 

42 


WILD  AZALEA. 


O  NEWEST  longing,  O  most  dear  desire, 

Unsatisfied,  unknown! 
All  the  broken  woodland  path 
Little  light  or  color  hath, 
Save  the  glory  breaking  in 
Thro'  the  depth  of  tender  green,— 

We  are  here  alone ! 

43 


WILD  AZALEA. 

Whence  is  the  sacred  music  of  the  wood, 

The  clear,  the  tireless  tone? 
Thro'  misty  ways  we  blindly  grope 
To  catch  the  earliest  signs  of  hope, 
Sun  or  shade  or  restless  wind, 
Whatso  pleasures  we  may  find,— 
We  are  here  alone. 


A  sudden  presence  stirs  the  solemn  wood, 

A  secret  not  its  own, 
A  youthful  light,  an  open  grace, 
An  equal  strength  in  every  place, 
And,  far  up  the  steep  ascent, 
Warmth  and  quick  desire  are  lent 

Where  we  wait  alone  ! 


O  far  away  in  yonder  leafy  copse 

The  wandering  thrush  has  flown, 
And  close  along  the  wooded  steep 
We  know  an  influence  passing  deep, 
The  Summer  light,  the  Summer  tone, 
The  rare  azalea  makes  her  own,— 
And  we  are  not  alone  ! 

44 


MOCCASIN  FLOWER. 

STATELY  and  calm  the  forest  rears  its  crown 

Above  the  eternal  height,— 
Wide  sweeps  of  early  color,  shimmering  down, 

Renew  its  gracious  might! 
Along  the  farthest  ridge  tall  chestnuts  grow, 

Mixed  dark  with  rugged  pines, 
And  follow  all  the  gentler  slopes  below 

In  grand,  harmonious  lines. 
Their  slender  limbs  toss  upward  to  the  sky 

A  billowy  spray  of  green,— 
The  massy  oak-tree's  richer  canopy 

Weaves  ample  shade  between. 
Alike  thro'  coppice  warm  and  rocky  dell 

The  rare  azaleas  press,— 
Long  vistas  touched  with  rosy  bloom  reveal 

Their  truant  loveliness  ; 

Young    growths    with    tender    leafage    springing 
light, 

Crowd  up  on  every  side, 


45 


MOCCASIN  FLOWER. 

And  paths  whose  flow  is  rhythmic  with  delight 

Their  magic  open  wide  ! 
Yet  shy  and  proud  among  the  forest  flowers, 

In  maiden  solitude, 
Is  one  whose  charm  is  never  wholly  ours, 

Nor  yielded  to  our  mood : 
One  true-born  blossom,  native  to  our  skies, 

We  dare  not  claim  as  kin, 
Nor  frankly  seek,  for  all  that  in  it  lies, 

The  Indian's  moccasin. 
Graceful  and  tall  the  slender  drooping  stem, 

With  two  broad  leaves  below, 
Shapely  the  flower  so  lightly  poised  between, 

And  warm  her  rosy  glow ; 
Yet  loneliest  rock-strewn  haunts  are  all  her  bent, 

She  heeds  no  soft  appeal, 
And  they  alone  who  dare  a  rude  ascent 

Her  equal  charm  may  feel. 
We  long  with  her  to  leave  the  beaten  road, 

The  paths  that  cramp  our  feet, 
And  follow  upward  thro'  the  tangled  wood, 

By  highways  cool  and  sweet; 
From  dewy  glade  to  bold  and  rugged  steep 

Pass  fleet  as  winds  and  showers,— 


MOCCASIN  FLOWER. 

For  lightly  ever  falls  the  tireless  foot 

That's  only  shod  with  flowers  ! 
No  lagging  step  outruns  the  happy  days,— 

Our  tread  is  soft  as  rain ; 
With  careless  joy  we  thread  the  woodland  ways 

And  reach  her  broad  domain. 
Thro'  sense  of  strength  and  beauty,  free  as  air, 

We  feel  our  savage  kin,— 
And  thus  alone  with  conscious  meaning  wear 

The  Indian's  moccasin  ! 

47 


DAISIES. 


THE  hills  are  faint  in  a  cloudy  blue, 

That  loses  itself  where  the  sky  bends  over, 

The  wind  is  shaking  the  orchard  thro', 

And  sending  a  quiver  thro'  knee-deep  clover. 


The  air  is  sweet  with  a  strange  perfume, 

That  comes  from   the  depths  of  the  woodland 
places, 

The  fields  are  hid  in  a  wealth  of  bloom, 

And  white  with  the  sweep  of  the  ox-eye  daisies  ! 


And  farther  down,  where  the  brook  runs  thro', 
Where    the    ferns    are    cool    in    the    prisoned 

shadow, 
We  still  may  see,  thro'  the  morning  dew, 

The  swell  and  dip  of  the  daisied  meadow. 

48 


DAISIES. 

And  then  when  the  wind  across  it  blows, 
And  the  wavering  lines  of  silver  follow, 

We  catch  the  gleam  of  her  heart  of  gold, 

While  over  her  skims  the  fleet-winged  swallow. 

Clear  and  simple  in  white  and  gold, 
Meadow  blossom  of  sunlit  spaces,— 

The  field  is  full  as  it  well  can  hold 

And  white  with  the  drift  of  the  ox-eye  daisies  ! 

50 


SWEET-BRIER. 

I  CHANCED  upon  a  rose  the  other 

day, 

A  pale  and  faded  flower,  forgot 
ten  long, 
And  wit  hit  these  unfinished  verses 

lay, 
The  faltering  echo  of  a  deeper  song, 


A  perfect  day  in  June, — the  golden  sun 

Looks  down  upon  the  green  and  tangled  way  ; 

The  Summer  song  and  silence  are  as  one,— 
The  light  and  longing  of  a  Summer's  day  ! 

O  untaught  harmony  of  Summer  days ! 

The  distant  tinkle  of  a  waterfall, 
The  blue,  blue  sky  that  deepens  as  you  gaze, 

The  wayward  rose  that  blossoms  by  the  wall ! 

51 


SWEET-BRIER. 


Unspoiled  and  sweet  in  every  country  lane, 
All  dewy  cool  in  maiden  pink  she  blooms, 

Still  green  and  fragrant  thro'  the  Summer  rain, 
When  freer  airs  are  thrilled  with  light  perfumes. 

She  blossoms  close  beside  the  dusty  way, 
Her  heart  the  careless  passer-by  may  see,— 

Sweet  is  her  fragrance  thro'  the  burning  day, 
But  sweeter  is  her  open  secrecy ! 


Though  he  who  will  may  pierce  her  leafy  green, 
Where  sits  the  brooding  robin  on  its  nest, 

The  secret  of  her  life  is  all  unseen, 

Unknown  the  impulse  of  her  sweet  unrest. 

All  day  the  winds  about  her  cool  the  air, 

Faint  sounds  the  tinkle  of  the  waterfall,— 
What  is  the  sudden  answer  you  may  bear, 

O  wayward  rose,  that  blossoms  by  the  wall  ? 

52 


HAREBELL. 

Low  adown  the  gracious  meadow,  dappled  close  with 

sun  and  shadow, 

Rounded    soft   by  waving   grasses,    thro'   a    hun 
dred  falling  lines, 
Drowsy  as  the  noontide  found  her,  with  her  ample 

robes  around  her, 
Summer,  lost  in  idle  musing,  at  her  ease  reclines. 


Floating  free   in   dell   and  hollow,  ere   the   fleetfoot 

daisies  follow, 
Springing  light  where    swoon  the  breezes,   warm 

against  her  throbbing  breast, 
Pure    and    deep,   yet    swaying    lowly    to    a   rhythm 

sweet  and  holy, 

Myriad  harebells  meet  and  tremble  o'er  her  dream 
less  rest. 


High   above   the   quiet   valley,   where   she   loves    to 

droop  and  dally, 

All  along  the  windy  headlands,  where  the  rock  is 
steep  and  bare, 

54 


HAREBELL. 

Summer  stays  a  moment  only, — leaves  her  kingdom 

wild  and  lonely, 

And  her  warm  breath  chills  to  vapor  on  the  frosty 
air. 

Yet  in   bleak    and    barren   places,    fresh  with   unex 
pected  graces, 
Leaning  over  rocky  ledges,   tenclerest  glances    to 

bestow, 
Dauntless    still    in    time    of    danger,    thrilling    every 

wayworn  stranger, 

Scattered  harebells   earn  a  triumph   never   known 
below  ! 

55 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL. 

Now  comes  the  fullness  of  the  year, 

The  flood-tide  of  a  living  joy, 
When  never  hope  admits  of  fear, 

Nor  any  pleasures  cloy; 
From  birds  that  stir  the  meadow  grass, 

From  winds  that  sweep  the  woodland  ways, 
A  thousand  voices  come  and  pass, 

In  chants  of  love  and  praise. 


Now  swells  the  forest,  calm  and  wide, 
In  rippling  waves  of  deepest  green, 

And  all  the  rugged  mountain  side 
Thro'  billowy  curves  is  seen  ; 

The  roadsides  meet  in  ample  shade, 

With  showers  of  light  and  golden  glooms, 

And  bubbling  up  the  rocky  ways 

The  clustered  laurel  blooms. 

56 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL. 


As  beauty  breaks  thro'  graver  truth, 
With  press  of  forms  and  flush  of  hues, 

Her  blushes,  warm  with  conscious  youth, 
The  shadowy  darks  suffuse  ; 


57 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL. 

The  Summer  owns  her  wide  control, 
She  holds  it  to  her  regal  place, 

Her  art  completes  the  gracious  whole, 
Herself  the  central  grace  ! 

Each  chalice  holds  the  infinite  air, 

Each  rounded  cluster  grows  a  sphere  ; 

A  twilight  pale  she  grants  us  there, 
A  rosier  sunrise  here  ; 

She  broods  above  the  happy  earth, 

She  dwells  upon  the  enchanted  days, — 

A  thousand  voices  hail  her  birth 

In  chants  of  love  and  praise  ! 

58 


WHITE   CLOVER. 

THE    distant    hills,    the    long   day 

thro', 

Have  fainted  in  a  haze  of  blue, 
The  sun  has  been  a  burning  fire, 
The  day  has  been  a  warm  desire, — • 
But  all  desire  is  over ; 


WHITE    CLOVER. 

The  lights  are  fading  from  the  west, 
The  night  has  brought  a  dreamy  rest, 
And  deep  in  yonder  wood  is  heard 
The  sudden  singing  of  a  bird,— 
While  here  an  evening  wind  has  stirred 
A  slope  set  thick  with  clover. 

The  fields  have  lost  their  lingering  light, 
The  path  is  dusky  thro'  the  night,— 
The  clover  is  too  sweet  to  lose 
Her  fragrance  with  the  gathering  dews, — 

The  skies  are  warm  above  her: 
The  cricket  pipes  his  song  again, 
The  cows  are  waiting  in  the  lane, 
The  shadows  fall  adown  the  hill, 
And  silent  is  the  whippoorwill ; 
But  thro'  the  summer  twilight  still 

You  smell  the  milk-white  clover. 

The  glory  of  the  day  has  ceased, 
The  moon  has  risen  in  the  east, 
The  distant  hills,  the  meadows  near, 
Are  bathed  in  moonlight  soft  and  clear, 

That  vails  the  landscape  over  ; 

60 


WHITE    CLOVER. 

And  born  of  rare  and  strange  perfume, 
Pure  as  the  clover's  odorous  bloom, 
Dear  hopes,  that  are  but  half  confessed, 
Dim  thoughts  and  longings  fill  the  breast, 
Till  lost  again  in  deeper  rest 

Among  the  blossomed  clover. 

61 


RED   CLOVER. 

CRIMSON  clover  I  discover 

By  the  garden  gate, 
And    the    bees    about 

her  hover, 
But  the  robins  wait. 
Sing,  robins,  sing, ! 
Sing  a  rounde- 

lay,- 
'Tis  the  latest  flower  of 

Spring, 
Coming  with  the  May ! 

Crimson  clover  I  discover 

In  the  open  field, 
Mellow  sunlight  brooding 

over, 

All  her  warmth  revealed. 
Sing,  robins,  sing, 

'Tis  no  longer  May,— 
Fuller  bloom   doth    Sum 

mer  bring, 
Ripened  thro'  delay  ! 

62 


MEADOW  LILIES. 

To  the  meadow,  where  the  swallows 

Dip  and  soar  the  long  day  through, 
And  among  the  hills  and  hollows 

Harebells  hang  their  cups  of  blue, 
Comes  a  flower  of  dusky  splendor, 

With  a  rare  and  queenly  grace, 
And  a  stately  beauty,  lent  her 

By  the  golden  August  days. 


Round  about  her  birds  are  singing, 
Grasses  nodding,  with  the  bloom 

Of  the  passing  Summer  clinging 
To  each  tall  and  slender  plume  ; 

Proud  she  stands,  yet  all  unconscious 
(As  a  princess,  strong  to  win), 

Of  the  deepening  shadows  round  her, 

And  the  mellow  light  within. 
63 


ME 'ADO  W  LILIES. 

Winds  across  the  uplands  flying, 

Sink  in  whispers  at  her  feet, 
Murmuring  in  the  grass,  and  dying 

Where  her  beauty  stands  complete  ; 
Not  to  heaven  her  head  she  raises,— 

Fairest  flower  along  the  dell,— 
But  to  meet  the  upturned  daisies 

Low  she  droops  her  dusky  bell ! 


Young  with  morning's  first  awaking, 

Languid  thro'  the  burning  noon, 
With  a  warmth  and  fullness  breaking 

Thro'  the  round  of  life  and  tune  ; 
Half  concealed  her  sumptuous  beauty, 

Grave  yet  gracious  is  her  mien, 
In  the  close,  oppressive  stillness 

Folding  all  the  meadow's  green. 


Clustered  lilies  in  the  shadows, 
Lapt  in  golden  ease  they  stand, 

Rarest  flower  in  all  the  meadows, 
Richest  flower  in  all  the  land; 
64 


MEADOW  LILIES. 


Royal  lilies  in  the  sunlight, 

Brave  with  Summer's  fair  array, 

Drowsy  thro'  the  evening  silence, 
Crown  of  all  the  August  day  ! 


66 


WOOD  LILIES. 

THRO'  trellised  roadway  edges, 

And  open  woodland  range, 
By  ruined  walls  and  hedges, 

Laid  low  thro'  endless  change, 
They  kindle  sparks  of  being, 

Flame  upward  ever  higher, 
And  break  the  moveless  verdure 

With  shifting  lines  of  fire. 


The  laden  bee  hums  past  them, 
The  wind  sweeps  idly  by, 

And  higher  swells  above  them 
A  dome  of  sapphire  sky  ; 

Each  broken  arch  of  shadow 
Lies  strewn  in  fragments  there, 

Each  shaft  of  sunlight  shivered 

Athwart  the  crystal  air. 
67 


WOOD   LILIES. 

O  lilies,  upturned  lilies, 

How  swift  their  prisoned  rays 
To  smite  with  fire  from  Heaven 

The  fainting  August  days  ! 
Tall  urns  of  blinding  beauty, 

As  vestals  pure  they  hold,— 
In  each  a  blaze  of  scarlet 

Half  blotted  out  with  gold ! 

Thro'  trellised  roadway  edges, 
And  open  woodland  range, 

By  ruined  walls  and  hedges, 
In  every  phase  of  change, 

They  lift  in  holy  vigils 

The  year's  unquenched  desire, 

And  break  the  moveless  verdure 
With  shifting  lines  of  fire  ! 


WHERE  the  woodland  stream 
lets  flow, 

Gushing  down  a  rocky 
bed, 


alders  grow, 
Lightly  meeting 

overhead, 

When  the  fullest  August 
days 


WILD    CLEMATIS. 

Give  the  richness  that  they  know, 
Then  the  wild  clematis  comes, 
With  her  wealth  of  tangled  blooms, 

Reaching  up  and  drooping  low. 

And  her  fresh  leaves  only  shade 

That  which  is  within  her  bower, 
Like  a  curtain,  lightly  made, 

Half  to  hide  her  virgin  flower; 
None  too  close  to  let  the  wind 
Find  a  place  to  breathe  between, 
Where  the  wild  bee  cannot  miss 
All  the  sweetness  that  there  is, 
Underneath  her  tent  of  green. 

And  the  sunlight  flickers  in, 

So  to  touch  her  maiden  breast; 
And  between  her  twists  of  vine 

Sings  the  woodbird  to  his  nest; 
And  the  air  is  wondrous  sweet, 
And  the  twilight  lingers  long,— 
And  the  young  birds  learn  to  fly 
In  among  her  greenery, 

And  she  hears  their  earliest  song. 

70 


WILD    CLEMATIS. 

But  when  Autumn  days  are  here, 

And  the  woods  of  Autumn  burn, 
Then  her  leaves  are  black  and  sere, 

Quick  with  early  frosts  to  turn! 
As  the  golden  Summer  dies, 
So  her  silky  green  has  fled, 
And  the  smoky  clusters  rise 
As  from  fires  of  sacrifice,— 
Sacred  incense  to  the  dead ! 
71 


INDIAN  PIPE. 

DEATH  in  the  wood,— 
Death,  and  a  scent  of  decay; 

Death,  and  a  horror  that  creeps  with  the  blood, 
And  stiffens  the  limbs  to  clay; 

For  the  rains  are  heavy  and  slow, 
And  the  leaves  are  shrunken  and  wan, 

And  the  winds  are  sobbing  weary  and  low, 
And  the  life  of  the  year  is  gone. 

Death  in  the  wood,— 
Death  in  its  fold  over  fold, 

Death, — that    I    shuddered    and   sank  where    I 

stood, 
At  the  touch  of  a  hand  so  cold,— 

At  the  touch  of  a  hand  so  cold, 
And  the  sight  of  a  clay-white  face, 

For  I  saw  the  corse  of  the  friend  I  loved, 
And  a  hush  fell  over  the  place. 


INDIAN  PIPE. 

Death  in  the  wood,— 
Death,  and  a  scent  of  decay, 

Death,  and  a  horror  but  half  un 

derstood, 
Where  blank  as   the 

dead  I  lay ; 
What  curse  hung 
over  the  earth, 
What  woe  to  the 
tribes  of  men, 
That  we  felt  as  a  death  what 

was  made  for  a  birth,— 
And  a  birth  sinking  death- 
ward  again ! 

Death  in  the  wood,— 
In  the  death-pale  lips  apart  \ ^ 

Death  in  a  whiteness  that 

curdled  the  blood, 
Now  black  to  the  very  heart: 

The  wonder  by  her  was  formed 
Who  stands  supreme  in  power; 

To  show  that  life  by  the  spirit  comes 
She  gave  us  a  soulless  flower  ! 

73 


THISTLE. 

HE  knew  her  mocked  by  thoughtless  youth, 
He  knew  her  left  to  ways  forlorn; 
Full  well  he  knew  the  shallow  scorn 
That  mocks  on  earth  the  noblest  born, 

And  blinds  our  eyes  to  deeper  truth. 

He  sought  her  thro'  the  feverish  days, 
In  rocky  pastures,  hot  and  dry; 
Alone  beneath  the  burning  sky, 
He  knew  her  deepest  truth  must  lie 

Beyond  his  pity  or  his  praise. 

Neglect  and  care  to  her  were  one,— 
She  read  no  glance,  she  made  no  sign, 
But,  safe  from  speech  of  his  or  mine, 
Inspired,  controlled,  by  light  divine, 

Her  spirit  drank  the  eternal  sun! 


74 


? 


THISTLE. 


He  soiled  her  not  with  touch  profane, 
Nor  stabbed  her  with  unholy  eyes; 
A  truer  instinct  made  him  wise, 
With  her  he  shared  the  earth  and  skies, 

And  still  forbore  a  nearer  claim. 


Outstretched  beneath  the  absolute  heaven, 
Along  the  parching  earth  he  lay, 
Till,  thro'  the  breathless  August  day, 
He  felt  a  conscious  sympathy, 

A  subtle  knowledge,  subtly  given. 

A  life  intense  within  him  grew; 
His  thought  a  second  self  became, 
And  mixt  his  youthful  blood  with  flame,- 
Her  separate  throes  of  passion-pain 

Swept  all  his  tingling  pulses  thro' ! 

The  sun,  a  throbbing  ball  of  fire 

Dropped  slowly  down  the  blanching  west, 
He  staggered  by,  as  one  possessed, 
Still  dizzy  with  the  thought  unguessed, 

The  ache  and  throb  of  strong  desire. 

76 


THISTLE. 

She  flinched  not  from  the  truth  revealed, 
Nor  thirsted  for  a  soul  complete; 
Her  being  yearns  with  forceful  heat,— 
Yet  He  thro'  whom  her  heart  doth  beat 

Hath  left  her  lips  forever  sealed  ! 

77 


SPIREA. 

A  ROCKY  path  winds  slowly  down 
Hard  by  the  steep  ravine  below; 

The  ferns  are  green  beside  the  ledge, 
And  light  along  its  broken  edge 
The  scattered  daisies  grow. 


And  yet  she  follows  every  turn 

With  spires  of  closely  clustered  bloom, 
And  all  the  wildness  of  the  place, 
The  narrow  pass,  the  rugged  ways, 

But  give  her  larger  room. 

78 


SPIRE  A. 


And  near  the  unfrequented  road, 

By  waysides  scorched  with  barren  heat, 
In  clouded  pink  or  softer  white 
She  holds  the  Summer's  generous  light,— 
Our  native  meadow-sweet ! 

79 


GOLDENROD. 

WHEN  the  wayside  tangles  blaze 

In  the  low  September  sun, 
When  the  flowers  of  Summer  days 

Droop  and  wither,  one  by  one, 
Reaching  up  through  bush  and  brier, 
Sumptuous  brow  and  heart  of  fire, 
Flaunting  high  its  wind-rocked  plume, 
Brave  with  wealth  of  native  bloom, — 
Goldenrod  ! 

When  the  meadow,  lately  shorn, 

Parched  and  languid,  swoons  with  pain 
When  her  life-blood,  night  and  morn, 

Shrinks  in  every  throbbing  vein, 
Round  her  fallen,  tarnished  urn 
Leaping  watch-fires  brighter  burn  ; 
Royal  arch  o'er  Autumn's  gate, 
Bending  low  with  lustrous  weight,— 

Goldenrod  ! 

80 


GOLDENROD. 

In  the  pasture's  rude  embrace, 

All  o'errun  with  tangled  vines, 
Where  the  thistle  claims  its  place, 

And  the  straggling  hedge  confines, 
Bearing  still  the  sweet  impress 
Of  unfettered  loveliness, 
In  the  field  and  by  the  wall, 
Binding,  clasping,  crowning  all,— 
Goldenrod! 

Nature  lies  disheveled,  pale, 

With  her  feverish  lips  apart,— 
Day  by  day  the  pulses  fail, 

Nearer  to  her  bounding  heart; 
Yet  that  slackened  grasp  doth  hold 
Store  of  pure  and  genuine  gold ; 
Quick  thou  comest,  strong  and  free, 
Type  of  all  the  wealth  to  be,— 
Goldenrod  ! 

82 


ASTERS. 

WALLED  in  with  fire  on  either  hand 
I  walk  the  lonely  wood-road  thro'  ; 
The  maples  flame  above  my  head, 
And  spaces  whence  the  wind  has  shed 
About  my  feet  the  living  red, 
Are  filled  with  broken  blue. 

And  crowding  close  along 

the  way 

The  purple  asters  blos 
som  free  ; 


ASTERS. 

In  full  profusion,  far  and  wide, 
They  fill  the  path  on  every  side, 
In  loose  confusion  multiplied 
To  endless  harmony  ! 

The  Autumn  wood  the  aster  knows, 

The  empty  nest,  the  wind  that  grieves, 
The  sunlight  breaking  thro'  the  shade, 
The  squirrel  chattering  overhead, 
The  timid  rabbit's  lighter  tread 
Among  the  rustling  leaves. 

And  still  beside  the  shadowy  glen 
She  holds  the  color  of  the  skies ; 
Along  the  purpling  wayside  steep 
She  hangs  her  fringes  passing  deep, 
And  meadows  drowned  in  happy  sleep 
Are  lit  by  starry  eyes  ! 

84 


CARDINAL  FLOWER. 


SLOWLY  the  black  water  gathers  in 
To  itself  a  hundred  folded  lines  ; 

Thro'  the  yellow  willows  at  its  brim 

Pale  and  cold  the  waning  sunlight  shines, 

As  the  Autumn  color  waxes  dim. 


To  the  westward  burns  the  smoldering  day, 
Still  and  solemn,  in  the  sunset  sky  ; 

In  the  purple  hollows  far  away 

Shadowy  veils  of  early  evening  lie, 

And  the  distant  mountain-tops  are  gray. 

In  the  stagnant  pool,  stirred  by  a  breath, 
All  the  shifting  light  and  color  lies, 

In  its  shallows,  dim  with  brooding  death, 
All  the  sweeping  splendors  of  the  skies 

Glass  themselves,  and  scatter  light  beneath. 

85 


CARDINAL    FLOWER. 

Whence  is  yonder  flower  so  strangely  bright  ? 

Would  the  sunset's  last  reflected  shine 
Flame  so  red  from  that  dead  flush  of  light? 

Dark  with  passion  is  its  lifted  line, 
Hot,  alive,  amid  the  falling  night. 

Still  it  burns  intenser  as  I  gaze, 

Till  its  heart-fire  quickens  with  my  own, 

And  when  night  shuts  in  the  dusky  ways 

Red  and  strange  shine  out  the  lights  of  home, 

Where  my  flower  its  parting  sign  delays. 

86 


FRINGED  GENTIAN. 

ALONG  this  quiet  wood-road,  winding  slow, 
When  free  October  ranged  its  sylvan  ways, 

And,  vaulting  up  the  terraced  steep  below, 

Chased  laughing  sunbeams  thro'  the  golden  days, 

In  matchless  beauty,  tender  and  serene, 

The  gentian  reigned,  an  undisputed  queen. 

87 


FRINGED    GENTIAN 

One    sudden    break,    half   down    the    lengthening 

shade, 

Revealed  a  dark-rimmed  circle,  still  and  lone,— 
Her  presence  filled  that  sun-illumined  glade, 

She  made  the  enchanted  solitude  her  own  ; 
The  heavens  above  their  watch  eternal  kept, 
And,    steeped    in   light,   the   embracing  woodland 
slept. 

Pale  knots  of  grasses  fringed  the  open  space, 
Her  lifted  cups  passed  lightly  thro'  and  thro',— 

Each  chalice  molded  in  divinest  grace, 

Each  brimmed  with  pure,   intense  and  perfect 
blue  ; 

Alone,  and  spotless  in  her  virgin  fame, 

Her  life  upheld  the  year's  immortal  claim. 

Now  wail  low  winds  about  the  forest  eaves, 

Now    life   grows    cold    'neath   cold    and   dreary 
skies, 

And  rustling  ankle-deep  in  fallen  leaves, 

The  lone,  deserted  wood-path  blanching  lies; 

Yet,  pinched  and  wan,  of  youthful  charm  bereft, 

The  last  forsaken  gentian  still  is  left. 

88 


FRINGED   GENTIAN. 

A  wondrous  fairness  hath  the  perfect  flower, 
Serenely  calm  beneath  a  sapphire  sky, 

But  holier  far,  in  Autumn's  wildest  hour, 
The  constant  love  that  cannot  wholly  die; 

To  me  her  radiant  youth  new  faith  did  bring, 

Yet  now  her  pallor  seems  a  higher  thing. 


Thrilled  by  her  gaze,  I  deem  no  fancy  wild 

Where  spirit  grace  outlasts  the  ruder  clay; 
For  me,  the  Autumn's  last  and  loveliest  child 

Takes  not  even  now  her  haunting  charm  away, 
But  when  cold  storms  have  stripped  the  snow-clad 

hill, 

In  finer  spirit-presence  lingers  still  ! 

s9 


IN  blackness  sinks  the  dull  November  day, 

With  gathering  night  the  air  grows  bitter  chill, 
While,  over  sodden  field  and  leafless  hill, 

The  wind,  in  sullen  mood,  disturbs  the   curtained 
gray. 

No  tardy  color  breaks  the  dreary  line, 
No  bird  note  lingers  in  the  frosty  air, 
The  skies  are  blank,  the  earth  is  cold  and  bare,— 

Hope    droops    her    shining  wings,   and   gives    no 
happier  sign. 

Mute  Sorrow  broods  above  the  lonely  heath, 
And  folds  us  closer  in  her  funeral  pall; 
Our  sinking  hearts  accept  the  doom  of  all, 

And  still  obey  her  word  who  bringeth    life    and 
death. 

Yet  not  alone  the  symbols  of  decay, 

We  can  but  see  the  signs  of  newer  birth  ; 
Pillowed  on  quiet  snows,  the  sleeping  earth 

Holds  all  her  power  in  check,  and  waits  the  com 
ing  day ! 

QI 


The  stately  hemlocks  keep  their  mantled  green, 
And  front  the  blast  with  all  their  ancient  pride  ; 
And  even  the  pencilled  alders  still  abide, — 

Their  catkins  tightly  closed  droop  blackly  o'er  the 
stream. 

O  wild-wood  flowers,  we  knew  and  loved  you  well, 
Yet  cannot  mourn  for  that  which  is  not  lost, 
No  piercing  blast,  no  hard  relentless  frost, 

Can  reach  the  inner  world  where  you  were  wont 
to  dwell ! 

The  reigning  year  no  absolute  power  can  bring, 
Beyond  its  rule  our  true  allegiance  lies  ; 
We  brave  the  night  with  glad,  prophetic  eyes, 

And  lo  !  returns  afar  our  hope's  immortal  Spring ! 

The  skies  hang  dark,  the  wind  is  sighing  low, — 
We  calmly  smile,  our  hearts  are  strong  to  wait ; 
We  leave  our  garland  safe  from  cruel  Fate, 

Laid    close   and  warm    beneath   the  softly  falling 
snow. 


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